


in this together

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Brotherly Love, Brothers, Canon Compliant, Coming Out, Family Bonding, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, but you can honestly ignore that part if u want, james and albus trying to fix their relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23273359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The two brothers have never had a perfect relationship. Albus' secret may change that.
Relationships: Albus Severus Potter & James Sirius Potter, Scorpius Malfoy/Albus Severus Potter
Comments: 23
Kudos: 463





	in this together

**Author's Note:**

> after "A Brother's Perspective" blew up, I wrote another piece about James and Albus, this time more focused on their relationship and how they became closer. it sat in my drafts for a year, but now it's finished. I hope you enjoy!

James never apologizes after a fight. No matter how serious it was - it could be over who ate the last bit of ice cream in the freezer, or why he never helped Albus when he was getting bullied, or about how much of a stuck-up idiot he was and he really should stop looking down on people. Albus’ words, of course. It’s not like Albus apologized either, but that’s because James was in the wrong. Most of the time.

“Pass the flour,” James says gruffly. His once black apron is already white, covered in handprints and smears. 

“It looks like you spilled foundation down your front.” Albus plucks the bag of flour and sets it down beside James’ elbow. 

“Foundation for an albino, must be. No one’s this white, even in England.” James stuck his whole hand into the flour jar. A cloud of pale dust emerges and settles onto the freckled countertop. 

“You’ve got dandruff.” Albus points to the leftovers that had settled in his brother’s hair. The white is in stark contrast with the dark black. James scowls and shakes his head vigorously. Flour is rather hard to dislodge. 

This fight was just over opening old wounds. It’s been two years since Albus nearly destroyed the world. He still doesn’t talk about it. Why should he, anyway? The memories aren’t pleasant. If he doesn’t think about them, it’s fine. James was pushing his buttons asking about if he was “going through a tough time.” Albus’ blood boiled just thinking about it.

Albus throws the dough down onto the surface before he could open his mouth and set James off again. It makes a satisfying slapping sound. He kneads his knuckles in, massages it, and then slaps it. He’s not sure if slapping makes a difference, but it’s fun, and it calms him down.

James never says “I’m sorry.” Or “It was my fault.” His apologies are never direct. No, his strategy is to poke his head into Albus’ room and ask, “Do you want to make dinner with me?”

Before Albus nearly tore apart the fabric of reality, he always said no. Even for some time afterwards, he would still vehemently refuse. Slam the door in James’ face, call him names, scream at him until his voice wouldn’t work anymore. James never retaliated. He would simply shrug his shoulders and start preparing ingredients by himself.

As time passed and as the wounds from his fourth year healed, Albus began to join James in the kitchen. At first, only watching, after he yelled and sobbed and swore for the whole house to hear. He would pretend that he wasn’t the slightest bit interested in what his older brother was doing. He just happened to be in the kitchen at the same time to get a cup of water and wasn’t planning on budging. 

“Smells good,” his dad announces, strolling into the kitchen.

“It just smells like flour right now. You can’t smell anything,” Albus argues. 

“Can too.” Dad sticks out his tongue before wandering over to the fridge and fetching a bowl of grapes. Albus rolls his eyes. He pops a few into his mouth at once and scarfs them down before swallowing loudly and saying, “What kind of pasta are you making?”

“Ravioli,” James says, kneading the dough vigorously. “Albus knows what sauce we’re making but he won’t tell me.”

“Well, we both picked up the ingredients, so you should know, too.” 

“Sorry I wasn’t paying more attention to the grocery list. You love being a mystery, don’t you?” It could’ve been a normal sentence, but James spits out the word _mystery_ and a heavy silence blankets the room. Albus wants to snap back, but he looks to his dad and holds his tongue.

Their dad looks to Albus and says, “Well, looks like I walked in on something.”

“You didn’t,” the two brothers chorus. They look at each other. A muscle in James’ jaw is clenched so tightly that it jumps. He turns around and hunches up his shoulders as he attacks the dough. Their dad sits at the wooden kitchen table, warily glancing between the two in between mouthfuls of grapes. The crunching punctuates the lack of noise. It makes Albus’ skin crawl. 

Just before they’re ready to start rolling the dough, James says, “Just wish Albus would open up more. Stop being such a fucking cactus.”

“Excuse me?” Albus whips around, no longer able to resist the urge to engage. “You’re not my therapist! I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“I wish you’d tell me more, at least! I wouldn’t have to be in the dark about everything.” James takes a step forward. Albus matches his movement, trying not to be outdone. If James wants to be up in his face, then Albus won’t shy away.

“You didn’t seem to care in fourth year, did you now?” Albus snarls before he can think better of it. That was low. They’d already talked about the bullying. James had already promised he would be better, after one of these same fights about a year ago.

James looks at him. His brown eyes are no longer fierce. “I said I would try harder.”

“I know.” _I shouldn’t have said that. I'm sorry._ Those words scratch at Al’s tongue, but he bites them back and swallows them. His eyes dart to the side, focusing on the lump of fresh pasta that James has been working on. “I… I think you added too much water to the dough.”

Almost lightning-fast, James responds, “I did not, you absolute idiot. This is the perfect consistency.” Maybe James doesn’t apologize after a fight, but neither does Albus.

Birds of a feather flock together. 

*

“What did James send this time?” Scorpius sits down at the end of Albus’ bed. He’s wearing his silken pajamas that make his hair look almost white. Albus used to tease him for it, saying it made him look like that old man from the nursery rhyme. Or that he looked posh.

Albus holds a little note that just popped up on his bedside table. James had a habit of creating papers for Albus to find in his dorm room. Professor McGonagall loathed how easily the elder Potter would apply the magic to his pranks and not his homework. “He told me that I look like an idiot in my training gear. Well, he’s off. I’m still in my pajamas.”

“I guess he has an interest in Divination.” Albus turns towards his best friend and gives him a gentle shove. Scorpius nearly topples off the bed, but Albus is pretty sure that’s for dramatic effect.

“Rude! I didn’t deserve that!” Scorpius’ eyes practically sparkle as he speaks, which is a disgusting thing to think and Albus hates his brain more than he can describe right now. Eugh. What normal person describes someone’s eyes as sparkling? That’s some awful rom-com shit, Albus.

Rather than retort and start a shoving match and make Albus’ stomach tie up in knots like it always does when Scorpius is in the room these days, Albus grabs the clothes he left on his desk and heads into the bathroom to change. He would change in his area like he used to always do, but changing in front of Scorpius these days feels wrong in a way he can’t describe. Albus knows it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t need to make sense to anyone but him, seeing as he’s the only person who’s ever gonna know about how he might have feelings for Scorpius.

 _Gross._ “Has feelings for.” What a terrible sentence. But “fancies” is worse and “has a crush on” forces him to admit to his problem, so he’s stuck with his original phrasing. Feelings is a vague word that can mean anything once the context is stripped away. 

The mirror is already steamed up when Albus enters. A wave of heat and condensation mists onto his face. It’s relaxing, if momentarily oppressive for his lungs. He leaves his clothes on a dry spot near the sink, grabs his towel, strips down, and showers as quickly as possible. He doesn’t like to linger in here, for the same reasons he doesn’t like to change in front of Scorpius. Albus doesn’t think the other Slytherin boys would look fondly on a possibly-not-straight dude being around when they’re naked. Feels pretty common sense.

He bangs his head on the wall as he thinks of it, a little too hard. He hates thinking of it. It makes him feel disgusting. Instead, Albus pours a little too much shampoo into the palm of his hand and vigorously lathers his hair. As he rinses the soap out, he clenches and unclenches his fingers, focusing on the motion so he won’t be distracted. 

When he turns off the water, he hops out and towels off before pulling on his Quidditch gear. Not for a game or for a Slytherin practice - he has to meet James at the pitch for their one-on-one match. James is probably already there. He loves to get there early to practice throwing the Quaffle. 

After throwing on his green long-sleeve, black pants, and protective gear, he musses his hair with a hand and then brushes his teeth before running out the bathroom door. Scorpius is lying fully on Albus’ bed, reading a massive book. Albus can’t quite make out the title, but it didn’t look like it was in English. “I’ll see you in class, Scorp! Can you bring my bag for me?” 

“Alright. We have Potions first, don’t forget!” Scorpius says, looking up from his book and smiling brightly at Albus. Albus’ heart ignores his stubborn wishes and pounds both faster and louder. He hopes he’s having a heart attack. That would be preferable to a crush on Scorpius.

When he arrives on the pitch, James is already there. He’s floating 5 meters off the ground, tossing a Quaffle lazily with one hand. “Look who decided to show up!”

Albus grits his teeth. Why does he even bother doing these, anyway? “Fuck off.”

“Nah. I’d rather do this than my Transfig homework.”

“Slacking off? I’m so surprised,” Albus deadpans as he grabs his broom and mounts it. James was kind enough to retrieve it for him. He puts on his helmet and kicks off into the air.

The feeling of flying never gets old. It always terrifies him a bit at his core, to be so high up from the ground and nothing but his own wit and physical skill keeping him from being a pancake. If James were to mess up, even slightly, then he could break every single bone in his body. Or die. Or both. 

Games are both worse and better. At games, there’s people to catch him if he happens to fall. But at games, so many people would watch him fall. And remember that he fell. And make fun of him. Not Scorpius, he hopes, and James would know to lay off the topic (James probably remembers best Albus’ flying hissy fit in first year and the following fallout), but he’d probably be a laughingstock for the rest of his time at Hogwarts.

He shivers thinking of it and clenches his broom until his knuckles go white. He thinks too much. Probably a surprising fact for anyone who compares him to Scorpius. That boy has about a million thoughts per hour. About 99.9% of them are very smart. No, Albus has a million thoughts per hour too. He’s just better at sitting on them until they go away. And the majority of them aren’t as well-put or intelligent as Scorpius’ speeches on magical theorems and ancient botany or whatever encyclopedia he’s reading this week. 

“Are you ready? Doesn’t look like you’re in the right position.” James throws the Quaffle up as far as he can and retrieves it before it hits the ground. Albus scowls and flies over to the scoring hoops. James is such an idiot.

Their practices are simple. No elaborate drills, just the two of them pretending that they’re facing off during a real game. Of course, they’re missing every other player and the stress of the crowd and people cheering and booing and the referees, but it’s good practice.

It took awhile for Albus to admit to himself that he wanted to play Quidditch. It was after the fiasco of fourth year when he finally turned to his mum and said he wanted to be a Keeper. His mum was over the moon excited that her son was following in her footsteps. She immediately enlisted James to teach Albus the basics. Which was, at first, miserable. Albus wanted nothing to do with James, and James didn’t want to hang out with his surly brother who snapped at him every five seconds.

When it became just the two of them practicing at school, eventually, it started to feel like normal. Like they were proper siblings who occasionally liked each other, even though neither of them would ever admit it. There were still screaming matches and arguments and giving the cold shoulder to each other. Albus was most guilty of the last offense. There was one physical altercation that neither of them are proud of.

But James was the first person to know that Albus had made the team in fifth year. Not even Scorpius knew when Albus pulled his older brother aside at dinner. And when Gryffindor isn’t playing Slytherin, he cheers for Albus, even when strategically, he should be rooting for Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. 

It means a lot.

Albus would never admit this to a living soul.

He blocks James’ first few shots, but then James fakes him out and gets it through the left hoop when Albus thought he was going right. “Good one, asshat,” Albus calls out. This is the closest he will ever get to a compliment.

Sometimes, James will fly laps with the Quaffle as Albus practices reaching from his broom. He used to have a major mental block; reaching made him more vulnerable to falling. But practicing with James makes the fear lessen. 

James takes shots on Albus for nearly a full hour. When they break, they lie on the grass, looking up at the sky. It’s a clear day, a little cold, but still nice fall weather. The sun feels good on Albus’ face. He picks at the grass absently.

“I need a date for Hogsmeade next weekend,” James grumbles, flipping over to face Albus. “I don’t think Sarah wants to be involved with me right now.”

Albus rolls over and pulls a face. He knows better than to ask James what he did to Sarah. “You don’t always need a date. You could go with your friends.”

“Yeah, but I’ve got a reputation to uphold. You wouldn’t understand that.” James smirks.

“Fuck you.” Albus tried to swallow that one back to no avail. 

“When are you gonna get a girlfriend, anyway?” James is now lying on his back again and tosses the Quaffle up. “You’re running out of time. Our parents were already dating by sixth year. I think. Which is gross.”

“Shut up.” Albus’ fingers are shaking. He balls them into fists so that James won’t see. 

They never talk about this sort of thing. They just play Quidditch. That’s the only reason why Albus even does this. James never brings up difficult topics during their practice sessions. He never forces Albus to talk about what’s bothering him, like he does at the dinner table or at home or in the kitchen. Albus appreciates the silence. 

“When’s Scorp gonna get a girlfriend, actually? That’s a better question. He’s attractive enough. A bit of weirdo, but hey, some girls are into that. Rosie wasn’t, but maybe she’s changed her mind by now.”

“Don’t call him a weirdo,” Albus fires back instinctively. He’s trying to keep his temper down. If he cracks and gets too upset, James might figure it out. He doesn’t want to tell James about anything he’s been feeling. To be honest, he doesn’t quite understand it himself.

It seems like during fourth year, guys started to get interested in girls. They would talk about which girl was the hottest in the dorm room. During Quidditch practice, the guys would talk about their girlfriends and who had done the most with who. It always felt like Albus missed the seminar everyone else attended. The one where they talked about tits and long, blonde hair and eyelashes and whatever. Even Scorpius had gone. He chatted incessantly about how smart Rose was and how pretty she was. Albus never understood. 

No, it took Albus until fourth year to notice anyone. And when he did, he noticed Scorpius. In the middle of the worst hours of his life, he noticed Scorpius’ perfectly sculpted cheekbones, and the single freckle he has under his left eye, and how his blue eyes look almost grey in certain lighting, and his white-blond hair and how radiant it was, and… 

Albus shakes himself and digs his fingernails into his palm. _Stop thinking._

“I’m not interested in girlfriends.” He doesn’t add the obvious _right now._ He realizes he should’ve when too much time had already passed and adding it belatedly would’ve made James ask a question he wasn’t ready to answer. He isn’t sure if he’d ever be ready to answer the question, _“Are you gay?”_

James chews his lip. He looks lost in thought. They sit there, Albus staring at the dirt, his cheeks burning. He refuses to look back up at James. He’s worried James will see what he’s really thinking, and he’s not ready to talk about this sort of thing with anyone, nevermind James.

It’s not the gay part that’s bad. No one but the batshit crazy elderly wizarding population really cares about that anymore, and they’re a tiny fraction of the population. It’s just the fact that James would make fun of him relentlessly that’s keeping Albus tongue-tied. Or that he’d say that Scorpius wouldn’t ever feel the same way. Which is true, but there’s a difference between thinking something to himself and hearing James say it out loud. It makes it more real. 

It’s also just hard to string the words together. It would be admitting he isn’t like everyone else. And Albus is sick of being different. It landed him in hot water in fourth year and he’s not keen on it causing him trouble ever again. That’s why he’s been working so hard to be nicer and more a part of the Potter family. Coming out would put the permanent black mark on his forehead again. He’d go back to being the Slytherin Squib, the freak, nicknames he hasn’t heard in ages. No one would dare admit it, but he’d know deep down that they would be thinking it.

The idea of Scorpius thinking he’s a freak makes the contents of his stomach shift uncomfortably. He works a fist into his stomach and presses down. Adding a new pain means he has a distraction. 

There’s a delicate nature to James’ voice when he speaks again. He simply says, “Ever?” 

Albus feels all the blood rush to his head. He can’t do this. Through his teeth, he grits out, “I didn’t say that.”

He feels James scoot closer. He stares at the grass and the dirt and the worms he imagines beneath it. “No need to be so snippy.” 

Albus wants to explode. He practices the breathing that his dad taught him. In for three, hold for three, out for three. He can’t bite James’ head off right now, no matter how badly he wants to. He can’t let words fly or else he’ll say something he’ll regret. 

“Sorry. Just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, I guess.” Partial truth is always the way to go. Without it, lies sound unbelievable. Either tell a little bit of the truth or spin a lie that makes you look like an idiot. As much as Albus initially resented the Sorting Hat for its choice, he now understands some of its reasonings. No Gryffindor is that good at lying. They say something ridiculous, realize it’s not working, and then punch you. 

James chuckles. “Damn, never thought I’d hear you say that word.” 

“Which one? Bed?”

“No, you numbskull. Sorry.”

“I’m not _that_ bad.”

James makes a noncommittal noise. Albus’ head snaps up, ready to defend his own honor, but he sees that James is smiling and relaxes. He shoves his older brother and stands up. After a moment, he offers a hand. James accepts and shoots up to his feet. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. This is the last time I’ll be nice to you for awhile.” Albus crosses his arms and sticks his chin in the air. 

“When have you ever been nice to me?” James whoops before he takes off running. “Last one to the Great Hall eats worms!” 

Albus is quick to follow and sprints after him. “Hey! I’ll get you for that!” 

*

Albus is distracted all day. He almost completely throws his Potions attempt by putting in the wrong ingredient. He proceeded to slice the dandelion root incorrectly, a total first-year mistake. His professor pulls him aside after class to ask if he’s feeling all right.

“A little under the weather, Professor. I think I’ll feel better tomorrow.” She gives him a smile and tells him to get rest. Scorpius hovers just beside her, looking extremely anxious. He looks unfairly beautiful even when he’s upset.

Albus isn’t doing a good job of pretending he doesn’t find Scorpius attractive. He decides to give himself a pass for the day. James' words keep hovering in his head. _Am I really that obvious? Merlin, I'm so pathetic._

When they walk out of the classroom, Scorpius says, “Al, are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Or I’ll be fine. James just said something that made me feel… strange.” That’s the best way to put it without revealing too much information.

“Do you need me to go beat him up?” Scorpius holds up fists and pretends to jab the air. “He’s got nothing on these fists of fury.” 

“I think James would manage to kick your ass blindfolded without a wand with all of his limbs tied together. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I’d still try.”

Albus smiles. Scorpius makes his chest feel so warm. “Thanks.”

The whole day, Scorpius makes a point of talking so that Albus doesn’t have to. He appreciates the gesture. Scorpius has learned that some days, Albus just prefers to listen instead of speak. He could listen to Scorpius for hours, but his best friend doesn’t need to know that. He throws in a few nods and “mm-hms” where appropriate. 

After they’ve gotten ready for bed, Scorpius sits next to him as Albus reads a few pages from his Defense Against the Dark Arts reading. It’s about the theory behind nonverbal spells and how best to use them in duels. When he’s reading the third paragraph on the fourth page, Scorpius leans his head on his shoulder. He tucks in his whole body towards Albus. Albus feels like his entire body is on fire. He loses the ability to read and focuses on keeping his breathing even so Scorpius doesn’t get suspicious.

“Has your dad ever practiced Legilimency with you?” Fucking Scorpius bringing up fucking Legilimency. If he suggests that they practice it on each other, Albus is going to hex him so hard he flies through the ceiling. No, he wouldn’t. His soft spot for Scorpius is the size of the continent. 

Albus snorts. “No, he hates it. I wouldn’t want him to, either.”

“Afraid of what he might see?” There’s a glint in Scorpius’ gray eyes and Albus swears in that moment that he’d do whatever it takes to make sure it stays there. 

“Fuck off.” Albus gently pushes Scorpius over. Scorpius scrambles and sits up almost immediately, arms outstretched. 

“You first.” Scorpius pushes Albus back with far more force.

“Oh, now you’re in for it.” Albus grabbed Scorpius around the middle as the other boy squirmed viciously to free himself from Albus’ iron-clad grip to no avail. He dug his fingers in as Scorpius laughed and begged for him to cut it out.

“Mercy, mercy! No tickling. That’s unfair.”

“When have Slytherins ever played fair?” Albus knew he was blushing. Shame bubbled up in his chest. He shouldn’t be acting like this. It wasn’t okay to be all touchy when Scorpius had no idea how he truly felt. If he ever confessed, Scorpius would definitely remember all these moments and be grossed out.

Still. Albus couldn’t help it all the time. Scorpius was a naturally touchy person. It would be weird if Albus suddenly stopped playing along with it. He picks up the book again to distract himself. Scorpius lies down next to him. 

A few minutes later, Scorpius mumbles, “Legilimency must be extra hard non-verbally.” He turns to look up at Albus. Albus’ heart stops, but he makes eye contact. “I wonder what you would see if you read my mind. I’m awfully curious about it. I’ve read descriptions of what it’s like, but I’m sure it pales in comparison to what it’s really like.”

“Well, good thing we’ll learn it next year,” Albus says, mustering a smile. Scorpius beams back. If Albus leaned any closer, they would be perfectly oriented to kiss. He wonders what it would feel like. At least they’re together in that neither of them have kissed anyone. Scorpius tried to kiss Rose back in fourth year, but she shut that down pretty quickly.

Albus hasn’t seen Rosie in awhile. She’s probably studying for something important. Classic. She should’ve been in Ravenclaw. But no, the Hat insisted on only being original for him. Thanks a lot, Sorting Hat.

Scorpius licks the corner of his mouth. Albus stares at his lips. They’re perfect lips, which is incredibly infuriating. He wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place if it weren’t for how well-shaped his best friend’s lips are. He wouldn’t be having a full on crisis about his sexuality without them.

Scorpius lifts his head. Albus misses it already. He’s so fucking pathetic. “I’m starting to fall asleep right here. That wouldn’t be good.” _It would be good. It would be more than good. It would be wonderful._ Albus forces his mind to clear. _Stop thinking._ His constant, painful mantra around Scorpius. Around everyone.

*

“Are you going with anyone to Hogsmeade?” James asks during one of their lunches together. About once a month, his older brother insists on eating with him. He claims it’s because he gets tired of the knuckleheads at Gryffindor. Albus thinks it’s partially because their dad makes him, but he hasn’t found sufficient evidence to support that theory and hanging out with James isn’t bad all the time, so he obliges.

“Scorpius. Obviously.” 

“I mean romantically.”

“Would you quit it with that stupid question?” Sometimes, Albus wants to tell him more than anything. James would probably be the most understanding. Being honest and open sounds so alluring. Whenever he tries, though, his mouth clamps shut. Maybe it’s better off this way. “You don’t need to antagonize me constantly. Merlin.”

“Believe it or not, I’m not trying to irritate you on purpose. I’m your family. We should stick together. I’m just trying to ask you a question.” 

“I’m not really in the mood for your sappy nonsense right now, James.”

James lets out a long sigh and crosses his arms. “It’s not nonsense. Can you stop acting like everyone’s against you? ‘Cause they’re not. Most of the time, people want to help you. There’s no need to make it difficult for them by being such an asshole all the time.”

Albus feels a hollow pang in his chest. He pauses for a moment, not knowing how to respond. It feels like the wind just got knocked out of him. “That was harsh.”

“I don’t know how else to get it through to you. I love you. Our family loves you. We’re just trying to help.”

There’s an extended, awkward silence after James says that. James returns to slurping at his soup while Albus’ thoughts stew. He feels like he should say something, at least; he feels badly for snapping at James constantly when really, he probably should talk about how he’s feeling. But he can’t find the words, and even if he could, he’s not sure he’d be able to string them together and speak a coherent sentence. The urge to speak, to say the words, to say anything climbs up his throat and sits in his mouth, burning his tongue. He wants to say it so, so badly. Albus opens his mouth. 

“I think I have a crush on someone,” is what comes tumbling out. Instantly, he feels two inches tall. James looks at him, his spoon dangling halfway to his soup, forgotten. Albus takes a shaky breath in. 

“Okay.”

Now that he’s spoken, the words come rushing out and they don’t stop. It’s a flood. For Albus, at least. “I don’t think they feel the same way. And… and they’re a good friend.” The final few words are practically a mumble, but James doesn’t ask him to repeat himself. 

“Okay.”

Albus balls up his hands and squeezes. His temper is flaring, but he can’t afford to let it out. Now isn’t the time. “Can you say something other than okay?”

“I know what that feels like.” James looks directly at Albus. It feels like his older brother is looking into his soul. Albus thanks every single star in the sky for the fact that James can’t do Legilimency wordlessly, otherwise he’d know every single one of his secrets, down to the time he picked his nose and ate it when he was five years old. “But I don’t think you should give up on them.” 

Albus narrows his eyes. “You’re just saying that.” 

“I’m going to make an educated guess about who it is. Forgive me for making assumptions, but it’s hard not to.” Albus feels his face get hotter and breaks eye contact. Of course James put two and two together. He wants to sink into the floorboards. “I think they might be more open than you think.” The pronoun isn’t lost on Albus. At the same time, though, he thanks his brother for not saying ‘him.’ He’s not sure he could’ve handled that. 

“I don’t want to ruin the friendship.”

“I think…” James pauses and seems to consider his words carefully. “When you’ve experienced what you and your friend have… there’s no way you could. There’s some things that make a bond inseparable.”

 _You’re giving up your kingdom for Albus._ That line echoes in his head. It haunted him constantly after Albus realized that most people didn’t want to spend the rest of their life only with their best friend. It gave him hope that there was a tiny chance that Scorpius felt the same way. No, he always told himself. No way. But maybe… 

“Are you just saying this so I feel better?”

“No, I’m not. Believe me. That would be far too cruel.”

And, stupidly, Albus says, “Okay.” And believes him.

*

It’s a lazy Saturday when Albus finally works up the courage.

“Scorpius. I need to tell you something.” Albus squeezes his eyes shut. He just needs to get it over with and say it. 

Scorpius doesn’t even glance up from his book. “Shoot.”

“I think I’m gay.” The words come out quiet but unmistakable. 

Scorpius pauses and puts down his book. He studies Albus for a moment. Albus feels like his heart is beating in his throat. Looking into his friend’s eyes would only make it worse, so he instead looks just above his head. Feigning eye contact was one of the best skills he ever learned. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I’m really glad you did.”

There’s tears that well up suddenly, unexpectedly, in Albus’ eyes. Roughly, he drags his arm over his face and looks down at his comforter. Wiping them away didn’t help. They start to blur his vision again. He doesn’t know what to say. He prepared for all the scenarios where Scorpius would walk away or call him names or whatever. Not that he thought Scorpius would be homophobic, but it doesn’t hurt to come prepared. 

“C’mere,” Scorpius says, holding out his arms. There’s a small, warm, genuine smile on his face. Albus can’t believe Scorpius still wants to hug him knowing what he does, but he obliges and his face crashes into his best friend’s shoulder. He could never tell Scorpius no.

“I’m getting snot on you,” Albus mumbles. “Onto your favorite blue sweater.” He doesn’t lift his head. Scorpius smells incredible. Just breathing in the scent of lavender and Scorpius makes him feel better. 

“That’s fine.” Scorpius arms are looped around his lower back. One hand is rubbing up and down soothingly. “Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah, anything you want.” Albus tilts his chin up a bit so he can look at his friend.

“I’m pansexual.”

“You’re what?” Out of all the thousands of scenarios considered, Albus never in a million years thought Scorpius would fancy boys, too. 

Scorpius screws up his eyes and looks at Albus. “Pansexual? It means I like everyone, regardless of their gender?”

“No, no, I know what that means. Sorry. I… I didn’t think you were also, uh, you know… too.”

“I wasn’t going to tell you because I didn’t feel like I needed to. I don’t know. I felt like coming out wasn’t… important.” Scorpius purses his lips for a moment. “Like, I could just say I thought a boy was cute and that would be that. Because I knew you weren't going to be mean to me about it, or anything like that. But I think that you deserve to know. That you’re not alone.”

“Thank goodness for that.”

“We’re in this together, Al. You should know that at this point, silly.” Scorpius goes back to rubbing his back. Albus closes his eyes and absorbs the words.

*

Later that day, Albus meets James by the Great Lake, next to the greenhouses. It’s a warm, cloudless, brilliantly blue day, strange for the middle of February. Many students are relaxing outside. James is leaning against a tree. He seems to be working on a charm when Albus approaches.

“Hey,” James says. “What’s up?”

“Can I tell you something and you won’t tell Mom or Dad or Lily?” He’s tripping all over his words. Classic. But he has to take advantage of the word vomiting when it works in his favor.

“Yeah, of course. Unless it’s really embarrassing and then I just might.” Those words don’t exactly instill the greatest confidence in Albus, but he recalls their earlier conversation and takes a deep breath.

“I’m gay.”

James, to his credit, doesn’t say “I know,” even though he has every right to. Instead, he says, “Thanks for telling me.” 

Albus heaves a sigh of relief and smiles. “This keeps getting easier.”

“Oh, who else have you told?”

“Scorpius. That’s it.”

James grins. He sticks out a hand and musses up Albus’ hair, which makes him scowl. “Proud of you. Baby steps.” 

Albus rolls his eyes and fixes his hair as best he can without a mirror. “Don’t say that. Now you sound like Dad.”

“Sorry, would you prefer to talk about relationship stuff? That’s more Lily’s style, but I’d be happy to accomodate. Okay, so when you make a move, make sure you stick your tongue-” Albus pretends to gag and cuts off James before the sentence can get any worse. 

“I’ve got to go. You’re being gross.” 

“Fine, fine. Later, loser.”

Albus turns around and walks away briskly. He can’t help but beam the entire way back to the Slytherin dorms.

*

On the morning of Hogsmeade, in an unusual turn of events, Albus wakes up before Scorpius. The other boys in the dormitory are still fast asleep. He throws on his clothes and steals a glance of his best friend. Scorpius lets out a loud snore before rolling over. He stifles a chuckle. Scorpius can’t even be elegant in his sleep, that’s for sure. 

When his friend wakes up, Albus waves hello to not disturb the others. Scorpius smiles and waves back. He gets ready quickly and the two walk down to the Common Room. Only one other person is there, a tiny second year girl who has her nose in a book and ignores them.

“How did you sleep?”

“Not so bad,” Scorpius says. “I had a dream that you were riding a dragon and you fell off. Broke all the bones in your body. I had to levitate you around between classes.” Albus snorts. 

“You’re creative even in your sleep.” 

“Of course! I read in a Muggle textbook that they think that the reason why you dream is to allow your brain to practice information you learned during the day. I mean, it makes sense, but it’s still weird.”

When it’s time to go, Scorpius runs back upstairs (“One last thing!” “Honestly, Scorp, get it together!”) to grab a scarf and a hat. He throws an extra hat at Albus (“But my hair…” “But your poor ears!”) and then they line up with everyone else.

Albus remembers how pleased his dad was when he asked for an extra permission slip to go to Hogsmeade. “Al, you’ve really grown this year.” Those words made him glow with praise for the rest of the day. McGonagall, of course, had a good chuckle over it. And Scorpius was ecstatic, which was the most important part. 

They walk behind the group, chattering to themselves the whole way. It’s almost the end of February, but it’s still bitterly cold. Albus finds himself pulling on Scorpius’ extra hat, even though he knows his curls won’t look right later on. It doesn’t matter, though, because Scorpius’ wide smile makes up for it.

They first stop in Honeydukes, of course. Combined, their sweet tooth is unstoppable. They purchase some of the Honeydukes Best Chocolate and Chocolate Frogs. Albus always manages to get the card with his dad on it. He’s fairly sure it’s rigged. He talks Scorpius into getting some Every Flavor Beans.

“When you get the vomit flavored one, I’ll remember this and laugh at you,” Scorpius says as darkly as he can manage. Albus just laughs. 

“Are you guys paying together or separately,” the cashier intones, not even looking up from the register. 

“Together,” Albus says, before Scorpius can say anything. James had always told him that he needs to pay for the girl while on dates. Albus thinks that it applies the same way to guys. 

“You didn’t need to do that,” Scorpius whispers to him on the way out. “I have money.”

“I know,” Albus says. “My treat.”

Next stop is Spintwitches Sporting Needs. Albus picks up some wax for his broom. Scorpius marvels at all the different accessories one can add that are definitely not approved for Hogwarts Quidditch. “You should get some decorations. I think the red feathers would look nice.” 

“I don’t think that’s very safe.”

“Being beautiful might distract the competition! Though…” Scorpius coughs into his hand. “I don’t think you need any help with that.”

Albus turns bright red and looks away. Now _that_ was unexpected. Scorpius had a habit of giving out compliments, but that felt like it was beyond friendship compliment territory. Or was it? Oh, Merlin, he should probably ask James for help, but he wasn’t sure he was ready for that conversation. It would be far too uncomfortable.

Instead, Albus says, “I think you have me beat in that category, Scorp.” He gently nudges his friend in the ribs. It feels like a safe thing to say while still being complimentary. He thinks it works, because Scorpius smiles and nudges him back. 

To cap off their visit, they stop at the Three Broomsticks. They order butterbeer and Scorpius argues with Albus until he’s allowed to pay. “You got to pay earlier! My turn!”

“Okay, okay.” It is very hard to say no to Scorpius Malfoy. 

When the drinks arrive, Scorpius gets a foam mustache instantly. Albus gives himself one to match and they laugh at each other until their stomachs hurt. Scorpius leans into Albus’ side and they’re sitting closer than they need to be, but he decides not to comment on it. Coupled with the butterbeer, he feels incredibly warm. 

On the way back, Scorpius says, “That was very nice.” The words are innocent but they still make Albus’ heart pound a touch faster. 

“Yeah. I love going to Hogsmeade with you.” He lets his hand brush against Scorpius’. To his delight, Scorpius doesn’t move his hand out of the way. Of course, Scorpius doesn’t mind being touchy most of the time, but this feels different. The air between them feels charged.

Scorpius’ hand brushes against his again. He looks up at Scorpius and he is already looking at him. The two break into smiles.

The stubborn hope that Albus has felt before bubbles up again. It floats at the top of his lungs, whispering, _You have a shot. You have a chance._

For once, Albus thinks he should listen.

*

The other boys are dead asleep, but Scorpius and Albus are still whispering to each other in Albus’ bed. The shades are drawn around them and Scorpius cast a Muffling Charm to make sure they wouldn’t bother anyone. “I wonder what time it is,” Scorpius mumbles through a yawn. He’s already under the covers and has a head on the pillow. “We should probably go to sleep soon.” 

“Yeah, we should.” Albus is laying on his side on top of the covers looking into his best friend’s eyes. The only light comes from Albus’ wand, left on the bedside table. It makes Scorpius’ gray eyes look almost glittery. They’re beautiful. He’s beautiful.

Albus wants to kiss Scorpius so badly it hurts. It’s like there’s a magnet in his chest drawing him closer and closer.

“I’m too tired to get up, though.” Scorpius snuggles into the pillow and closes his eyes.

“Do you want me to sleep in your bed?” His friend cracks an eye. 

“No.”

“Okay. We can share. If that’s what you want.”

Scorpius nods. He already looks to be drifting off. “Sounds comfy.”

Carefully, Albus lifts up a corner and shuffles into bed next to him. The bed is so small that their legs and arms touch. Scorpius’ hand is touching his own. He feels the other boy shift his fingers almost imperceptibly to link their pinkies together.

Albus knows there’s no way he’ll fall asleep tonight.

*

It’s a little after eight in the morning when Albus’ eyes shoot open. He feels a heavy weight on his back. Scorpius’ arm is resting over him. It feels wonderful.

Scorpius’ hair is a mess. His face is smashed into the pillow, his backside up, the same way that Albus sleeps. When he was younger, his parents said that they worried that he would stop breathing in the middle of the night because of it. 

Albus wants to reach out and fix Scorpius’ hair. Instead, he pushes on his friend’s shoulder. Scorpius opens one eye blearily. “Hello?”

“Good morning.”

“Good morning. Yes.” Scorpius smiles. He does a lot of smiling lately. It makes Albus’ heart skip beats. It’s wonderful.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Albus says. The words keep flowing from his mouth, but they make Scorpius’ smile grow even larger. So maybe the blabbering wasn’t a bad thing.

“Me too.” Scorpius squeezes him tighter. 

“Do you want to go to breakfast soon?”

“Yeah.” His friend yawns, sits up, and stretches. His nightshirt creeps above and exposes his stomach.

Albus tries not to stare, even though he wants to, so he looks at Scorpius’ mouth instead. He swallows once. He has a sudden feeling that if he doesn’t confess right now, he’ll never get another chance again. And he wants to confess. His whole body is telling him to, cheering him on. The hope is now deafening in his ears. 

“I would like to kiss you. Very much. Um, I didn’t actually mean to say that out loud.” His heart is thumping in his ears. 

Scorpius’ smile manages to grow even larger. That feels like a good sign. He gently cups Albus’ face and closes his eyes.

“What are you doing,” Albus says, and it’s meant to come out like a question, but now he sounds panicked and rushed and insane. 

“Doing what you asked.” The other boy opens his eyes. “Isn’t that what you want?”

Albus sits up abruptly and bumps his forehead on Scorpius’ chin. Both boys wince. “Wait, you actually want to?”

“No, Albus, I’ve been possessed by one of those things from those Muggle movies. Alibobs. What are they called again? Actually, it’s not important.”

“Aliens.” 

“Thanks. I said it wasn’t important, but I’m glad I know. Can I kiss you now?” Scorpius doesn’t even sound the tiniest bit exasperated or annoyed. How did Albus get so lucky? This had to be a dream. He was nearly certain of it. 

“Can you pinch me first?”

Scorpius wrinkles his nose. “Albus, I think it’s important that you know that I don’t find pain attractive.”

“No, I need to know I’m not dreaming.”

Scorpius sighs, but there’s a smile crossing his face as he does so. He shakes his head and a little bit of silvery-blond hair falls into his eyes. Albus wants to move it back. “Albus, you’ve always been a bit thick, haven’t you?” His words are heavy with affection. He pinches Albus gently on the cheek. 

“Yeah.” Albus can’t help but smile. “So this is real.”

“I’m going to kiss you now before you can blabber any more. Is that okay?”

Albus closes his eyes. “Couldn’t be better.” 

*

James,

How do you ask someone out if you’ve already kissed them? Also, I know I cut you off before, but what were you saying about the tongue thing? Is that important? I have no idea what I’m doing. 

Albus

*

Dear Albus,

Ignore what I was saying about the tongues. That was just to freak you out. As for asking someone out, I think all you have to do is say the words “Will you be my girlfriend/boyfriend/whatever?” I’m sure it’s not that different from the time you asked them, “Will you destroy the world with me?” Kidding, kidding!

Also, your practice kit looks awful on you. Green really isn’t your color. See you in ten minutes. We can talk more about it then.

Love,  
James


End file.
